Kaleidoscope Hearts
by Illyria13
Summary: Prompt challenge. A collection of 10 prompts from various TV shows featuring a variety of characters.
1. First Time

Kaleidoscope Hearts

By Illyria13

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters or shows or anything you might recognize. The title is also from a song by Sara Bareilles, "Uncharted". And the name of her album, if I'm not mistaken.

Meme Challenge-

1. Write down the names of 10 characters.  
>2. Write a fic of 150 words or less for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers.<p>

List:

1. Patrick Jane (Mentalist)

2. Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds)

3. Wordy (Flashpoint)

4. Jax Teller (Sons of Anarchy)

5. Will Zimmerman (Sanctuary)

6. Nate Getz (NCIS: LA)

7. Sam Braddock (Flashpoint)

8. Steve McGarrett (Hawaii Five-0)

9. Neal Caffrey (White Collar)

10. Shawn Spencer (Psych)

AN1: Each prompt will be posted as a separate chapter for easier reading. There will be 10 total. I will post two tonight and hopefully be able to get the others up over the next few days.

AN2: I'd like to mention that this is a first for me and as such, I'd really appreciate people letting me know what you think. I will label all sections with character names and origins but I do understand that there will be many people who don't recognize/know every single show or character mentioned. Still, I made the decision to do multiple genres and shows to make it easier for me to write and I hope that I made each prompt unique and interesting. And I know that the instructions were 150 words or less for each prompt-that's just…apparently impossible for me. I did try to keep them a reasonably short length. Enjoy!

Warnings: Most, if not all, of these prompts will be slash or have slash pairings. It will more than likely be kept light and/or implied more than graphic. This is your warning.

**/**

**First time, 4 and 6 : Jax Teller & Nate Getz (Sons of Anarchy & NCIS:LA)**

Jax has always had a thing for doctors, especially the ones who seem to be running from something. Unlike Tara, who was running from someone, Nate was simply running. Running to, from, away, towards, up, down, left, right-the shrink was desperately searching for an escape. It both intrigued and infuriated Jax, and roused protective instincts in the blonde man with an intensity he'd never felt before. Because he knew better than anybody that the only reason people run is because they cannot stay. Because it's too damaging and painful and destructive to remain in a place they cannot belong, amongst things that are no longer theirs, and surrounded by people they no longer understand.

The first time they met was in a shootout.

Jax, Opie and Juice were in a bar, for once not looking for trouble, when a group of Mayans decided to try and make a name for themselves by taking out the three Sons. Jax had just put one of the Mayans down and was drawing a bead on another when his gun decided to pick that opportunity to jam. Swearing, he took his eyes off his surroundings for one moment. A split second later, he was down, looking up at the ceiling through a haze of smoke and it took a moment for him to realize that he'd been shot.

"Jax!"

The sound of Opie calling his name roused him. Blinking, the blonde tried to move, but a hand suddenly on his chest pushed him back to the ground, forcing him to remain stationary. The shove was followed by hands running up and across his body and Jax recognized the act as the methodical ones of a doctor assessing injuries. Relaxing as best he could, he allowed it, thinking it was one of his brothers, until a voice above him spoke, speaking directly into his ear in order to be heard above the gunfire.

"It's a through and through to the shoulder. You'll be fine, if you can manage to get out of here without getting shot again."

It wasn't one of his brothers.

Reacting instinctively to the threat, Jax's eyes flew open and he reached for his gun, causing agony to flare through his arm and across his chest. The stranger caught him by the shoulders and eased him back down to the ground, keeping a firm grip on the blonde even as he fought against the hold.

"Hey! Ease up, now! I didn't just risk my neck for you to get shot again!"

After a few seconds of hard breathing, reality kicked back in and Jax calmed slightly, recognizing the truth to the man's words. He flinched instinctively as a bullet ricocheted nearby, again reaching for his gun, before cursing at the remembrance that the damned thing had jammed.

"Jax!" This time it was Juice who called his name, a thread of tension running through it at the initial lack of a response from his VP. "JAX!"

A pause in the gunfire and the sound of guns being reloaded caused Jax to take advantage of the lull to let his two brothers know he was alive. Sitting up slightly with the stranger's help, he yelled in the general direction of Opie and Juice.

"I'm alright! I got hit in the shoulder and my fucking gun jammed!"

The minute the words escaped he regretted them. Apparently his brothers weren't the only ones paying attention to the exchange, a fact that was punctuated by the sudden barrage of bullets all aimed his way. Cursing, he and his savior ducked as the steel came dangerously close to their heads.

"Fuck this."

Jax glanced over at the stranger just in time to see him reach behind his back and pull out a shiny, chrome .45-caliber handgun. He watched the brunette check the magazine before pulling back on the hammer and cocking the gun with all the precision of a seasoned veteran. Brown eyes met his own, now-narrowed blue unflinchingly and Jax raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"You a cop?"

The other man snorted. "Hardly. I'm a psychologist."

"Pretty slick with that."

"I've had practice."

"Oh, they teach that in college now?"

"No, but they do in Iraq."

There was a pause, brown still meeting blue, before Jax inclined his head slightly in a silent acknowledgment, giving the other man permission to act. The stranger nodded back before glancing around the bar.

"The two guys in the vests that match yours are on your side, I take it." Jax nodded again when the other looked back at him. "Okay, then."

In a single, fluid motion, the brunette stood up. Less than ten seconds later, Jax watched in slight disbelief as three Mayans went down instantly from head shots and the fight ended as quickly as it began. The stranger dropped back down to his side and was reaching out to help him when Opie was suddenly there, grabbing the man by his shirt and pulling him away from Jax.

"Opie, don't!"

Reaching his hand out (and why was it covered in blood?) and struggling through the dizziness that swamped him, Jax clenched his teeth together before speaking, hoping that his words made sense.

"Guys, he helped me. Let him go." His eyes closed as darkness filtered in and Jax fell into the silent black.

Waking up in the clubhouse was the first thing he was aware of. The stranger sitting next to the bed taking his pulse was the next.

"You know, I never did catch your name, Doc."

The man's eyes met his and a warm pulse of desire shot through him.

"It's Nate. And I'm not a doctor. I just picked up a few things here and there."

"You helped me out. Good enough in my book."

A moment of silence passed between them, and Jax took the opportunity to study the other man. Strong features, brown eyes, brown hair, rather tall and intelligent – all good things in his book. But it was the wariness that caught his attention, and the soul-deep tiredness etched into the other man's skin that told Jax that this man could be trusted. He'd seen too much, felt too much, not to be able to understand their way of life.

"Why did you help me?"

"Because I could." Nate sighed. "Because I needed to. Because I knew what I was doing."

Jax couldn't help the skeptical look that crossed his face.

"Because I know how to read people. I know how to tell the good guys from the bad ones. So believe me when I say that I know what I just did. And Jax?" Nate leaned forward, staring him directly in the eye. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

And from that moment, he was hooked.

Jax has always had a thing for doctors. Especially cute brunettes.

/

AN: I had a lot of fun with this one, and it turned out rather long. It might end up to be the longest of all the prompts, so don't be surprised if the others are much shorter. I'm trying to challenge myself by limiting my word count.


	2. Crack

**Kaleidoscope Hearts**

**By Illyria13**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**/**

**Crack fic, 1 : Patrick Jane (Mentalist)**

"Lisbon! Lisbon, help!"

At the sound of distress and panic in the voice of the CBI's resident ex-psychic-troublemaker-current-pain-in-her-ass (otherwise known as Patrick Jane), Lisbon's head snapped up. The paperwork in her hands dropped in a flurry of dead-trees onto her desk and was messed up further by her boots as she vaulted over the wooden table. Sliding into the room and nearly colliding with Rigsby coming from the other direction, she looked around frantically for the blonde man, gun in hand and a flurry of questions spilling from her lips.

"What's going on? What happened? Who's hurt? Who's dying? Jane?" She paused for breath. "Somebody call an ambulance and a TAC-team, now!"

"Ummm…That's not necessary."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed at the consultant standing on top of a desk and travelled to the right to land on Cho. The laconic agent was currently pointing a gun at Jane, a dark scowl on his face. Holstering her weapon, she raised her hands slightly and adopted what she hoped was a calm, appeasing tone.

"Alright boys, let's everybody calm down. Cho, why don't we talk about this?"

A moment passed in silence, Cho steadily glaring and aiming at Jane, Jane looking at Lisbon in panic, and Lisbon looking at them both. Once she realized that apparently neither of them were going to start, she mentally sighed, wondered when she'd hired children, and tried again.

"Start from the beginning. What happened?"

Surprisingly, it was Cho who spoke first.

"He drank the last of the coffee! He doesn't even LIKE coffee!"

"Yes, well, he drank my last tea bag! You know how I get without my morning chamomile!"

Lisbon closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prayed for patience. When that didn't work, she opened her eyes and pulled her gun.

"I have the perfect solution. I'm going to shoot you both."

At the dumbfounded expressions crossing both men's faces, Lisbon smiled.

"Boys? Start running. Now."

As the pounding footsteps faded into the distance, Theresa Lisbon calmly walked into her office, sat down and picked up her paperwork.

She ought to start with that the next time.

/

AN: In retrospect, I think Lisbon actually became the center of this fic.


	3. Horror

**Kaleidoscope Hearts**

**By Illyria13**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**AN: **Sorry for taking so long to post. I've been trying to finish these but RL is getting in the way. But I'm a bit proud of being able to limit myself to less than 300 words.

/

**Horror, 10 : Shawn Spencer (Psych)**

There are times when he thinks he'll drown under the onslaught of the voices in his head. Other times, he thinks he might get dragged away into the never-ending darkness by ghostly hands and the shredded remains of the souls that surround him.

He's a psychic, you see, a genuine Miss Cleo (Mr. Cleo? Mr. Clyde?), but the thing about his gift was that, like most gifts, it comes with a no-return policy. He can't shut it off, he can't turn it down, and he can never, ever escape it. It's a part of him, sunk so deep into his bones that it has eaten a part of his soul, and he thinks that he is irrevocably claimed.

Sometimes he wonders what will happen if he dies. For a man who can hear and see the dead, what will it be like when he joins them? Will he finally be alone? At peace? Or will the dead that haunt him in reality be allowed to follow him into the beyond?

But the truth is far simpler than he ever thought it would be. And as Shawn wakes screaming, remnants of blood and pain and _feartearsagonylossdespair_ clinging to his skin, the answer could never be clearer.

When the Grim Reaper himself holds the contract for your soul, there is no escape, now or in the afterlife.

/

AN2: I just like the idea of Shawn actually being psychic.


	4. Angst

**Kaleidoscope Hearts **

**By Illyria13**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**/**

**Angst, 7 : Sam Braddock (Flashpoint)**

Life is one of the most fragile things in the world. It can change in an instant, be taken away without remorse, and leave nothing behind but ruin. He's seen this. He's felt this. In the abandoned desert sands of a country he didn't belong in, fighting a war he didn't understand the purpose of, he's felt it slip through his fingers. He's knelt amongst the bodies of his fallen comrades, held them in his arms as they passed from the realm of the living to the one of the dead, and been left behind to deal with the fallout. He's stood at the graves of fellow soldiers, withstood the cold, accusing glares of their loved ones, and tried not to crumble under the burden of it all. He's done it over and over, again and again, _left-right-left_, point and shoot, lock and load, snap crackle pop, until all he can taste is death like ashes in his throat.

But what the fragility of life has taught him is that there are other, more precious things that are just as fragile. Things like the bonds that exist between people, between lovers and soldiers and family and friends. Because when they break, when they're torn and ripped and shattered and frayed, the jagged ends left behind resonate with excruciating pain. They ache, ache like an abscessed tooth or like a bullet hole to the soul; a malingering wound that will never be healed. And sometimes he wonders if it's worth it, worth it to reach out to those around him, worth it to make connections, to build those oh-so-fragile threads with people that will soon be gone. It is a cold cruelty to have to look at his fellow soldiers and wonder who will still be there tomorrow but it is what war has taught him, if not engrained into him through blood and sweat and tears, and in the dark recesses of his mind, Sam knows that he is not exempt.

And life is fragile, and so are people, but there is nothing more so than the life of a soldier who's long lost hope.

/

End.

Author's Note: I found it highly ironic that the prompt "Angst" ended up with my absolute favorite character to put through hell.


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